Ostrinski was a Pole, about fifty years of age.  He had lived in Silesia, a member of a despised and persecuted race, and had taken part in the proletarian movement in the early seventies, when Bismarck, having conquered France, had turned his policy of blood and iron upon the “International.”  Ostrinski himself had twice been in jail, but he had been young then, and had not cared.  He had had more of his share of the fight, though, for just when Socialism had broken all its barriers and become the great political force of the empire, he had come to America, and begun all over again.  In America every one had laughed at the mere idea of Socialism then—­in America all men were free.  As if political liberty made wage slavery any the more tolerable! said Ostrinski.

The little tailor sat tilted back in his stiff kitchen chair, with his feet stretched out upon the empty stove, and speaking in low whispers, so as not to waken those in the next room.  To Jurgis he seemed a scarcely less wonderful person than the speaker at the meeting; he was poor, the lowest of the low, hunger-driven and miserable—­and yet how much he knew, how much he had dared and achieved, what a hero he had been!  There were others like him, too—­thousands like him, and all of them workingmen!  That all this wonderful machinery of progress had been created by his fellows—­Jurgis could not believe it, it seemed too good to be true.

That was always the way, said Ostrinski; when a man was first converted to Socialism he was like a crazy person—­he could not’ understand how others could fail to see it, and he expected to convert all the world the first week.  After a while he would realize how hard a task it was; and then it would be fortunate that other new hands kept coming, to save him from settling down into a rut.  Just now Jurgis would have plenty of chance to vent his excitement, for a presidential campaign was on, and everybody was talking politics.  Ostrinski would take him to the next meeting of the branch local, and introduce him, and he might join the party.  The dues were five cents a week, but any one who could not afford this might be excused from paying.  The Socialist party was a really democratic political organization—­it was controlled absolutely by its own membership, and had no bosses.  All of these things Ostrinski explained, as also the principles of the party.  You might say that there was really but one Socialist principle—­that of “no compromise,” which was the essence of the proletarian movement all over the world.  When a Socialist was elected to office he voted with old party legislators for any measure that was likely to be of help to the working class, but he never forgot that these concessions, whatever they might be, were trifles compared with the great purpose—­the organizing of the working class for the revolution.  So far, the rule in America had been that one Socialist made another Socialist once every two years; and if they should maintain the same rate they would carry the country in 1912—­though not all of them expected to succeed as quickly as that.